This is How You Comfort Me
by Dukes126plus
Summary: Luke's not sure he can manage it. From Farewell, Hazzard. /Warnings: suggestions of slash, incest/


This one takes place in that moment of _Farewell, Hazzard_ after Bo and Luke have reminsced about their childhood, and are making the decision that they need to take care of Jesse, now.

* * *

Bo's still braced in the window, taking deep breaths like he expects each will be the last one he needs in order to let go of the chipped and dented molding under his fingertips. Luke's behind him, waiting it out, buying exactly what Bo's selling because the alternative is—

Jesse's in the next county north, and if Daisy's reporting accurately, not in any better shape than Bo is right now. But if he were here, he'd have some idea of how to get Bo out of the window frame in one piece. Luke's not sure he can manage it. He goes into what used to be their kitchen with some misplaced thought about getting his cousin some lemonade, but of course there isn't any; there's not even a cup to catch tap water. No food to bribe him with either, and Luke has no other ideas.

Considers sitting in the corner like he did when he was small enough that he fit there. It was sufficiently close to the stove to keep him warm, far enough out of the way that Uncle Jesse wouldn't complain that he was a tripping hazard. Used to think, when he slid back into that corner, that maybe his aunt and uncle were wrong, maybe made a mistake, and his parents would come for him today. Even when he stopped believing that, he'd sometimes slip in there to hope for it anyway. He waited in that tight space for things to fix themselves until it finally got through his skull that they weren't going to. And when he came out from the safety of that corner, it was fists first, swinging at everything that reminded him that things weren't fixed, that they were broken in a forever kind of way. Funny how that led to more time spent in a corner… over there by the mantelpiece, though. Not his favorite corner. Anyway, somewhere around first grade he'd abandoned his kitchen hiding spot and never looked back. Now, without any furniture in the room, he could probably fit in there again.

Except Bo's still out there in the living room. Hasn't moved, because those clunky footsteps in this empty house would have echoed from one end to the other. Luke holing up in the kitchen isn't going to bring Bo out of his. He has to go back to him.

So he does, gets into the same room with Bo anyway, and is at just as much of a loss as he has been all along.

"Come on, Bo…" he says, but has nothing to follow it. Bo has no words to answer it with either, and he doesn't come on.

Luke forces himself nearer, as close as he needs in order to watch his cousin's back heave with the effort to control himself, enough to see the redness of his face. Enough that he could touch Bo if he knew where or how, like Jesse would.

Winds up with a tentative hand on Bo's back, no place in particular, maybe the middle, not moving. Waits to get shoved off, because that would make sense. Bo's fighting tears and the last thing he should want is Luke there watching it happen.

What he gets instead of pushed away is pink eyes, rolling around to look at him. Recognizing, just like Luke does, that he's a poor substitute for Jesse. Looking and probably thinking about how Luke ought to have a plan already, ought to be making everything better, but he's not. He's just standing there with a useless hand on Bo's back and—

The thought dies right there with all the sudden movement of Bo turning, still mostly slumped, and just about burying himself in Luke's shoulder. Luke's arms find their way around Bo and settle there, no clue what to do with themselves. After a minute or maybe ten, Luke feels Bo's hands moving up and down (or maybe it's across) his back. Whichever way it is, it's pulling Luke's shirt tight then loose, and eventually it makes its own point: _this is how you comfort me._

He tries to take the hint, but it's not natural. Bo is doing everything he can to make himself smaller than Luke right now, curling down shorter, which only makes his back arch away. There's no way to be smooth and fluid in motions around such an odd curvature, especially when Bo keeps choking or coughing, or maybe that's just what crying really sounds like. Luke wouldn't know; Bo usually holds himself together, and if he ever doesn't, it would be something he's done in front of Jesse, maybe. Never Luke.

Still, he tries to mimic Bo's movements, tries to remember being small enough to cry on Jesse's shoulder like this. Seems like there was something about a big old fingers on his head that helped, maybe. Didn't hurt, anyway. So he tries to get a hand up into Bo's hair, but it doesn't much work, what with the way his cousin's hanging over him, yellow-sleeved arms trapping Luke's underneath. Finds a collar, a neck, and it'll have to do. Picks a rhythm and rubs to it. Bo rocks to that same silent beat; just the slightest sway, small enough that Luke's hardly sure it's real. _This is how you comfort me._

So he keeps it up and waits it out, hoping like hell that this is one of those things that pass on their own, eventually. Stands to reason that at some point Bo's mind will run out of sad thoughts about height markers on a wall, baseball games they lost, meals eaten off mantelpieces and the fact that he's never known any other home. Luke turns his head to the side and winds up with his face buried in Bo's hair. Reckons it must be the itchy nature of its new location that makes his nose sniffle.

Eventually Bo's hold on him loosens enough that he figures this thing will come to an end, soon – must be a hug, when he thinks about it. He gets them from Bo all the time, but this one's barely recognizable, what with the utter lack of glee. He's not sure he's ready to see Bo's face yet, probably doesn't want to know what a mess his shirt is underneath it, either. Too late now, here it comes.

Forgets about the shirt when he sees how pink his cousin is. Reminds him of Bo the toddler, sunburned and screaming and—

Bo's right hand has come up to Luke's shoulder from wherever it was wandering around his back. Left hand is worse, keeps right on coming closer until it's on Luke's face, brushing at his cheek as if there was something there to be wiped away. _This is how you comfort me._

Luke tries it. It's not much use, wiping away one wet spot when that whole face is just—

Coming closer. Slow, careful, no sudden moves, nothing to get spooked about. Luke holds still for it, even though he knows what it's about to be. Soft lips brushing against his own.

_This is how you comfort me._


End file.
